


Title Without Glory

by Shadow15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Top Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: Bucky is found on the shore with Steve after the helicarrier fight.  With Steve in hospital, SHIELD having fallen, and Fury wanting to remain "dead", they don't have much choice on what to do with Bucky. Not wanting him to fall back into what is left of Hydra's hands, Sam volunteers to step up until Steve is well enough to return.The only problem is, the Winter Soldier is valuable, and Hydra doesn't give up that easily.





	1. Chapter 1

He didn’t know why he’d done it. He couldn’t, for the life of him, work out why he’d pulled Captain America from the water. Hydra had drilled it into his head that Captain America was his mission – all he had to do was let him down and his mission had been carried out. He’d done his part. Hydra would reward him when he returned to them with the news of his success.

So why had he done it? He tried hard to understand it, but he couldn’t. Captain Ameri – Steve… Steve had… Steve had said stuff. Caused a malfunction in his programming. He’d have to report to Hydra and be repaired. He hated the repairs, but he hated the malfunctions even more – the malfunctions brought pain with them. Repairs were usually simple.

But all this thinking was too much for him. He was exhausted. He hadn’t been fed in a while; Hydra didn’t tend to feed him while he was still out in the field. Maybe the lack of food was messing with his thinking.

He stared down at Captain – at Steve. He stared down at Steve. Hydra would be looking for him. They’d find Steve here and know that their asset had failed them. He’d be punished. Hydra would be looking for him; he was too valuable to lose. They’d find him. He may as well finish the job here and now and make it easier on himself.

But he couldn’t. He was exhausted. He was cold and wet. _Tired_.  Feeling things he didn’t usually feel. Hydra was coming, and he still hadn’t completed his mission.

He laid down beside the Captain and closed his eyes. Hydra was coming, but he had needed to sleep, no matter how much it went against his programming to disobey.  Hydra was coming, but he was tired.

 

* * *

 

He awoke to movement beside him. His first instinct was that Hydra had come to take him back to the chair that he loathed with his entire being. But it wasn’t Hydra. It was Cap - Steve - sitting upright, looking as pale as a ghost as he nursed his gunshot wound.

“Buck…” Steve sounded… _something_. Something indeterminable. But definitely not well. The asset was no longer capable of that such a critical level of thinking. “Buck…”

The asset looked around at the name, searching for whoever else had joined them while he had been out because _he_ definitely wasn’t _Bucky_ ; assets weren’t important enough to have names, and the best he could hope to be called at the very least was asset. His head cocked in confusion when he found that they were still indeed alone; who was this… this _Bucky_ person?

Steve groaned. He looked pained, and for some reason, the asset gave brief pondering to whether or not it was entirely physical. “Bucky…   _You’re_ Bucky… I just… I…”  

Steve’s voice was trailing off. The asset recognised it to be some sort of hysteria, similar to the way some of his victims seemed to choke and gasp on their own words as they begged for their lives. This wasn’t fear, though. This wasn’t fear, and if he had any grasp on what it could have been, the haze in his head was too thick for any real, coherent thought to seep through.

Steve reached up to tap his ear and activate the telecom seated inside.  The asset knew he should be fearful of this action; Captain America could easily call in reinforcements to their location, and with both of their current states, there was really nothing either of them could do to protect themselves if anyone sought them out with ill intent.

Steve was gasping for breath. His voice was strained, dropping in and out as he struggled to say, “Sam… By the – by the lake… I got Buck…”

Steve had collapsed at this. The asset – Bucky, Steve kept insisting - stood idly, but for whatever reason, his heart rate was increasing, and he felt jittery. His feet felt like they needed to move forward, and the fingers of his flesh hand were twitching. His eyes stayed focused on Steve, who looked to have passed out again. If the asset had any desire to disappear from the scene, he certainly didn’t have the energy to match it.

It was the sound of an approaching helicopter that distracted him. As he realised it was coming straight for them, he tried to get to his feet, only to stumble and fall to his stomach. He wanted to escape, to get away, to not be captured and just return to Hydra so he could face his punishment for screwing up his mission. But he could do little more than curl up into a ball and wait for the inevitable. 

The helicopter landed on the shore, not far from where they lay.  Three people ran to Steve – people the asset recognised. People he had tried to kill. He’d thought he’d been successful in at least _that,_ but clearly not since he was watching them drag Steve to the helicopter.

They were leaving him alone, he hoped, as their feet stomped past him. They were leaving him here, injured and drained for Hydra to find. Perhaps it was mercy on their behalf. Or perhaps they were hoping that Hydra would give him a death sentence for this. The asset didn’t know; he didn’t understand people and how they thought.

“Get that big bastard in here, too, Wilson.”

He moaned in displeasure. He’d been wrong, after all. People were… He _hated_ people. So much.

Hands grabbed at him and dragged him through the dirt and grass. The hands belonging to the man with wings were gentle enough where they had him by the armpits, but the orange-haired woman’s hands were as hard beneath his knees as her expression was. This woman _hated_ him, he knew. She hated him, too, but she was wrong for this. She didn’t have reason to hate him. He had been doing the right thing.

“Man, he’s heavy,” the man with wings grunted. He didn’t know how they’d even managed to get him onto the helicopter, but once they’d seated him as far from Steve as possible, and handcuffed his metal wrist (not that it would do any good; they’d seen it tear through harder like butter) to a railing, the man with wings knelt before him and observed him with a strange expression.

He wanted to speak. To say to the man with wings that right now, he was sure all he wanted was to jump out of the helicopter and hope they were high enough up. But he didn’t. He was a good soldier; he did not speak unless he was ordered to. 

The man with wings let out a heavy sigh, as if resigning himself to something he knew he wasn’t going to like.  When he spoke, his voice was soft.  “My name is Sam. I’m going to clean up your wounds.”

From behind the man named Sam, he could see the orange-haired woman tending to Steve, laid out on the seats and still bleeding heavily. He didn’t argue; he just sat, complacent as he had been trained, and let Sam wipe the blood from his flesh hand.

Sam didn’t get any trouble from the Winter Soldier. He’d sat so still throughout it, he could almost have been a statue. He’d allowed himself to be manhandled without so much as a change of expression; he’d allowed his tac gear to be opened, and wounds on his chest and stomach to be cleaned.

His face was a different story. Sam knew he should have expected a bad reaction at some point, but the Soldier had been doing so well, he’d almost forgotten about it. His fingers had barely brushed the stubble on the Soldier’s face before the Soldier’s teeth were so deep in his hand, blood was dribbling past his lips and onto the floor beneath them.

“Hell!” Sam instinctively yanked his hand free of the Soldier’s mouth, which made the wounds worse as the sharp edges of those teeth cut through his flesh and left a trail of torn skin along his hand. His eyes were wide as he observed the Soldier, howling and flailing now like a trapped, wounded animal whose instinct was to kill or be killed.

Despite how wild the Soldier had become, he never tried breaking free of the handcuff, and Sam wasn’t oblivious to the fact.

Sam wrapped his hand in his shirt before he turned to face his two comrades. He raised his hand in the air, in silent request for them both to lower the guns they had fixed on their captive; the Soldier wasn’t trying to get at them, so there was no reason for any guns to be pointed at him.

Not yet, anyway.

“Calm down, man…” Sam murmured. He was horrified to see how the Soldier snapped to attention at those words, stilling so instantly, it was bone-chilling to witness the level of command Hydra must have had over him.

Though that raised questions for the three, it raised even bigger ones for the asset. They weren’t his handlers, so why had he listened to their order as if they were?

The asset didn’t want to ponder – he _couldn’t_ ponder. The exhaustion was returning, and the constant haze in his mind was growing worse.

“Sleep,” the man with wings told him eventually. “We’ll be there shortly.”

The asset didn’t know where ‘there’ was, but he didn’t have it in him to care; with his newest set of orders, he closed his eyes and shut his mind off, just relieved for the reprieve he could finally have from his aching mind.


	2. Chapter 2

They kept insisting his name was Bucky. Bucky wasn’t a bad name. Bucky was better than being called Soldier or asset. Bucky sounded nice. It sounded warm and welcoming. Like the people who called him Bucky _wanted_ to be around him, unlike the Hydra agents who recoiled from his very gaze.

They kept him in a room. He was used to rooms. Outside of missions and being frozen, they kept him locked away in a room barely big enough to pace in. He had had a thin, moth-eaten blanket in the corner, but the room he had now had a _bed_. He liked beds. Beds were warm and comfortable. He liked this room.

That was wrong, though. Assets weren’t supposed to like. They were supposed to obey. If Rumlow was there, he would have been punished.

But Rumlow wasn’t there. Pierce was dead, he had been told. None of the STRIKE team he was used to working with were here. His handlers were gone, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“He’s hitting the walls again!”

He recognised the panic in the voices outside his door. He’d panicked Hydra agents all the time. Sometimes even without trying to. He’d step too closely, drawn in by the smell of the food they cooked at safe houses. Agents would scurry like he was coming in for the kill when all he wanted was to know what they were cooking.

He hated the Hydra agents.

“I’ll try and calm him.”

The opening of the door had him freezing mid-throw of his body against the wall in a part-confusion, part-panicked response at not being ordered on how to respond to having no handlers.  The man with wings - Sam, he knew - was standing before him, with his hands out in front of him as he stayed by the door.

“Whoa, big guy; not gonna hurt you... Not gonna hurt you... Shh...”

He didn’t know if he hated these people, too.

“Easy, easy, now...” Sam stayed by the door, making no move to come closer or to lower his hands. “Shh... You’re good, Bucky; we’re good.”

There was that name again. Bucky. He cocked his head to the side as he observed Sam warily. “...”

“Do you know where you are?” Sam’s gentle tone never changed. He frowned when he received a shake of the head in response; he’d had to tell Bucky every day where they were, and it was concerning. “This is a... Facility. It’s run by Nick Fury. Things are... _complicated_ right now, but the people here... They’re doctors. Fury brought them on to try and help you. When you’re well enough, we’re going to bring you home and you -“

“- Steve.” Bucky’s voice was so unexpected, Sam almost jumped. Agitation was thick in his tone, and his eyes were becoming wild again. Sam could see him trying to swallow past the lump in his throat with difficulty. “Steve. Where’s Steve?”

“Steve’s at the hospital,” Sam explained, trying to defuse the situation he could see quickly going south. “He would be here if he could but he -“

“- _Steve_!” Bucky’s panicked scream sounded seconds before the deafening thump of his body slamming into the wall. “ _Steve_!”

It was heartbreaking, and Sam was convinced he didn’t have the appropriate training to be able to handle Bucky. But still, he tried. He used his voice, staying where he was lest he panic Bucky even more than he already was.

Eventually, Bucky learned to hone in on his voice and be soothed by it.

“That’s it...” Sam watched Bucky crumple into an exhausted heap on the ground. “Yeah, that’s it... Relax... Just relax, big guy; nothin’s hurtin’ you here. I promise.”

Sam waited until Bucky’s breathing was calm before he sat in the doorway, trying to appear less threatening. Bucky watched him, his eyes never leaving Sam’s form, as if he expected to be attacked any second now.

Sam had to remember that Bucky probably _did_ expect it - and not just out of paranoia.

“Do you remember your name?” Another question Sam asked every day, and never got a good response with.

Bucky licked his lips. His eyes darted nervously before he murmured, “Everyone... calls me Bucky... But I don’t have a name. Assets do not require names; only orders.”

“Your name is Bucky,” Sam reminded gently. “Whatever Hydra called you, forget it. Your name is Bucky, and that’s what you’re going to be called with us.”

“Bucky...” He mumbled the name, testing it out on his tongue. He locked gazes with Sam again. “I’ve never had a name...”

Maybe not since he’d been with Hydra, no, but Sam wasn’t willing to let Bucky believe that forever. He’d had a name, once upon a time, and he was finally getting it back.

Now wasn’t the time to try to teach him, though. Now was the time for Bucky to start healing.

Sam gestured to the empty mug at the foot of Bucky’s bed. He smiled. “Did you enjoy your soup? I can bring you more if you want. It’s my ma’s recipe; she was always a mean cook.”

Bucky wasn’t allowed to respond. It was a test. Assets could not want. They could not make requests. He would be beaten if he were to respond, so he stayed silent and lowered his gaze as a sign of his submission.

Assets only obeyed, and he was a good asset.

Sam made sure to keep his smile up. “It’s okay. You just make sure to rest. Get some sleep.”

Bucky was on his feet and climbing into his bed immediately at the order. He pulled the blankets over him and rolled onto his side so he could watch Sam until he’d left the room. Once he was satisfied that he was alone and safe, he closed his eyes and tried to force himself into sleep, just as he had been told to.

The desperate need to urinate made it much harder than it would have been, but no one had taken him to the bathroom. Assets couldn’t ask; it was up to his handlers to determine his needs and when to satisfy them.

But his handlers were gone, and his eyes snapped open in panic all over again.

***

“How is he?” Sam stepped into the observation room. He peered at the cameras, seeing Bucky laying near-motionless in his bed as he turned his head-to-side and mumbled to himself.

“Calm. He was heavily sedated.” The head-nurse in charge of Bucky’s care was frowning. She passed Bucky’s file to Sam, murmuring, “There is severe psychological damage. I worry it’s even worse than the physical damage.”

Sam tried to hide his concern behind humour. “What could be worse than never bein’ able to walk through a metal detector again?”

The nurse’s frown grew. “Physically? His stomach is so shrunken, even the few spoonfuls of soup you bring to him could hurt him if he drinks it too fast. He’s malnourished, and with how heavy that metal arm is, I don’t know if he can be strong enough for it to not hurt him. To top things off, the damage found to his anus _has_ healed, but it’s healed all wrong - most likely from the abuse occurring too closely together for it to have time to heal properly. These things alone are serious concerns, but you as a therapist should understand the severity of his mental state.”

“I do,” Sam admitted. He opened the file in his hands to flick through it. “At least, I understand what I can _see_. No tellin’ what that guy’s been through. He’s gone through some shit, that’s for sure:”

“Agent Hill needs a discussion about bringing in a psychiatrist. Medication must be in order.”

“Medication is a mask. It might make him feel better, but it won’t solve his problems,” Sam reminded. “He needs therapy. I can’t give him that - not to the extent he needs.”

“Another thing for Agent Hill to organise,” the nurse agreed. “He is in a very bad way. The breakdown he had after you left… From what we saw on the footage, there was nothing in particular that could have set him off - he must have set _himself_ off somehow.”

“Maybe it had to do with me leaving…” Sam frowned. “I’m gonna go check on him again. Just keep an eye on the cameras for me.”

“He’s sedated so heavily, he isn’t going to be moving anywhere,” the nurse promised.

Sam nodded. It was probably a good thing, really; if they weren’t careful, Bucky could kill them all. He left the observation room and went back to see Bucky, despite that he’d already been in there maybe not even half-hour ago.

Sam knocked on the door politely. He wasn’t expecting a response with how sluggish Bucky had appeared on the monitors, so when he opened the door, he stayed in the doorway, careful not to take up too much of Bucky’s personal space.

“Hey, Barnes.” Sam realised too late it was probably only confusing to Bucky to call him by his last name when he barely even knew his _first_ name. Oh, well; too late to turn back now. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

From where Bucky lay slumped in his bed, he peered at Sam with eyes clouded from sedatives. His mouth open and closed wordlessly a few times, but when he blinked, there was recognition in his eyes, as if he knew what Sam had come here for.

When Bucky somehow rolled himself onto his stomach and raised his ass into the air, Sam realised he was on the right track, but Bucky wasn’t seeing Sam.

“Christ, man, I - N-no!” Sam wasn’t disgusted. Not at Bucky. He could _never_ be disgusted in Bucky. A decorated war hero who had been captured and turned into an emotionless machine would _never_ be Bucky’s fault. “I’m not here for that!”

But Bucky never moved to get off his knees, as if he had locked himself so deeply in his mind, he didn’t even know Sam was trying to talk to him.

Sam closed the distance between them so he could gently manoeuvre Bucky onto his back and pull the blankets over him. He shook his head. “Barnes… I… I would _never_ do that to you… I’m not… I’m not _them_. I will _never_ be one of them. And as long as you are here with us, you will _never_ be expected to let anyone do that to you…”

Bucky’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. Sam knew he’d locked himself deep inside his mind so he didn’t have to face the horrors he would probably never escape. Sam played with his long hair, hoping it would bring comfort; it had helped Sam’s little sister whenever she needed comforting, so hopefully it worked for traumatised super soldiers, too.

By some miracle, it did seem to work. The tension was slowly leaving Bucky’s body, and though he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he eventually pressed into the touch and nuzzled close.

Sam smiled. “Hey, you’re kinda cute when you’re not tryin’ to kill anyone. I’m startin’ to see why Cap likes you so much.”

Bucky’s eyes never opened for the rest of Sam’s visit. Not even when Sam pulled the blankets over him and tucked him in tight once tiny snores had started up.

As Sam left the room, he made a mental note to come back and take a picture to show Steve. ...Once Steve woke up, that was. The nurses still thought he’d be out a little longer.


End file.
